


Trial and Error

by MokuK



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pet Names, it's mostly eames being affectionate and arthur being stubbornly not affectionate, with a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9718793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MokuK/pseuds/MokuK
Summary: Eames has a lot of pet names to try out and a lot of persistence. Arthur secretly loves it (except for some of the pet names because they're horrible).





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youcantsaymylastname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcantsaymylastname/gifts).



> prompt: darling
> 
> for the lovely youcant! you're so great in the chat and i hope you have a lovely valentine's <33

The first words that Eames says to Arthur are, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.”

Arthur takes one look at the man standing before him, with his rumpled shirt and crinkled slacks and playful smile and promptly spins on his heels and walks in the opposite direction.

Of course, the dramatic flair is only slightly diminished by virtue of the fact that he is still the point man, and he still needs to manage the operation and set up their equipment. Regardless, the five minutes he spends outside reevaluating all of the life choices that have led him to this point (and by association, this unfairly attractive man who goes against all of Arthur’s sensibilities) are quite satisfying.

Cobb shoots him a confused look when he comes back in, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened.

“It’s too warm in here,” Arthur merely says, ignoring the fact that the thermostat reads a perfectly respectable 19 degrees Celsius.

“Oh yes, absolutely,” the man that introduced himself as ‘Patrick Harrison Clemens the fourth, at your service’ says. “As a matter of fact, I feel like I may need to spontaneously take off my shirt in the near future.”

Arthur’s cheeks are entirely too warm when he mutters something about finding air conditioning.

\------------------------------------------

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, honey bunches?” are the first words out of Eames’s mouth the next job they work together, seven months later.

Arthur can feel his face scrunching up despite his best efforts to keep it in check.

“Not quite?” Eames says, slumping against Arthur’s desk with a despondent look on his face.

“Not even close to quite,” Arthur responds, placing a thick sheaf of papers in Eames’s hands. “Here, take a look at these. I found transcripts of your mark’s social media interactions from the past six months so you can get a feel of how she might talk.”

Eames narrows his eyes at Arthur as he slumps away, clutching the papers to his chest. “I’ll figure it out the perfect one, just you wait.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, _Patrick_ ,” Arthur drawls, turning back to his computer. He has research he needs to do, and not even the warmth in his chest can distract him from that.

\------------------------------------------

Eames comes knocking at his door in the middle of the night. When Arthur swings the door open, Eames is leaning against the frame in an outfit that practically begs to be burned. “Well, if it isn’t the light of my life! Care to join me for a little adventure?”

Arthur slumps against the hotel wall. “Eames, it’s,” he turns to glance at the alarm clock, “3:17 in the morning. What kind of adventure could you even have in suburban New Jersey at this time of night?”

“You never know,” Eames says with a glint in his eyes. “I’ve heard of some illegal drag racing competitions taking place a little way away. Or,” he adds at the sight of Arthur’s raised eyebrow, “we could drive into Manhattan and grab a drink.”

“That’s a forty-something minute drive, Eames. Is anything even open at this hour?” Arthur says, rubbing his fingers against his temples in an attempt to stave off the oncoming headache.

Eames throws his arms out, grinning. “Sugar lips, New York is the city that never sleeps.”

Arthur shakes his head, closing the door. “Please, never again.”

“Ah well, that’s the reason why the method of trial and error exists,” Eames laughs, shrugging. “That wasn’t a no to going out though, was it?”

Arthur peeks his head threw the crack of the door. “No, no it wasn’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe that pajamas aren’t quite bare attire, no matter how drunk you may be.”

The resulting whoop is loud enough to hear through the door. Arthur shakes his head in exasperation, reaching for yesterday’s clothes. A few creases never hurt anyone.

\------------------------------------------

“Schnookums, I need to know if you’re planning on taking this Rowan case because the way it’s sounding, I don’t think I trust anybody else’s intel.”

Eames’s voice is tinny over the phone. Arthur has it pressed between his shoulder and his cheek, trying not to drop it as he packs up his luggage. “I’m sorry, are you speaking to me? I don’t think I know anybody by that name, so you might have the wrong number.”

“Mon petit chou?”

“Only slightly better because the French makes it sound as though you’re not actually calling me a cabbage,” Arthur relents. “Anyway, about this Rowan case, yes, I am taking it because it’ll no doubt crash and burn without me, especially if you don’t have me to play mediator between you and Huang.”

Eames’s sigh crackles through the receiver. “Honey bun, you are an absolute lifesaver.”

“And it’s worse now,” Arthur deadpans before hitting the ‘end call’ button.

\------------------------------------------

It’s been four years since the first nickname, and somehow Eames is still going strong and hasn’t run out of ideas. Arthur has no idea where he’s getting this inexhaustible list of frankly terrible terms of endearment.

“I need to know where you’re finding these,” Arthur says when he confronts Eames the day before they’re pulling off the Hirsch job. It’s freezing outside, but outside is the only place where they can talk without drawing curious looks from the rest of the team.

Eames presses a finger to his smile. “Now, what kind of member of a corporate espionage team would I be if I gave information away that freely?”

Arthur glares, trying to look as intimidating as he can without shivering or chattering his teeth. “Don’t try to distract me, Eames.”

“I would never, pumpkin.”

The cold is unbearable at this point, and Arthur just wants this conversation to be over. “See?” he says, throwing his hands up into the air. It’s a terrible idea because now the warmth around his torso is missing and yes, that’s the sound of his teeth clattering. “This is what I mean? There can’t possibly be this many nicknames! I’ve kept track of all of them and you haven’t repeated a single one! “

Eames’s smile grows even larger, something Arthur hadn’t realized was possible. “Aw, toots, you’ve been keeping track?”

“No,” Arthur says, jabbing a gloved finger in the air at Eames. “That’s a terrible one, don’t ever use it again, and also no I have not been keeping track,” he lies.

“If you insist,” Eames calls after him, smile evident in his voice.

As Arthur slams the door behind him, Cobb comes over, brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you okay? I heard shouting. Your face is also _really_ red.”

“It’s the cold,” Arthur mutters as he stomps to his desk.

\------------------------------------------

“This is a terrible idea, babycake,” Eames says with a straight face.

Arthur continues typing away, ignoring the weird look that their chemist is throwing their way. “I have my reasons for doing what I do, Eames. That’s my job.”

“Yes,” Eames hisses, leaning in close. “but that shouldn’t include following an obviously unstable and untrustworthy extractor who _may or may not have killed his own wife_.”

Arthur can feel the lines of tension down his back and through his limbs. His fingers still on the keyboard. The cursor blinks evenly back at him.

“I’m an adult who’s perfectly capable of making his own decisions,” Arthur says, pressing his palms against the cool plastic desk, watching them to make sure they don’t tremble from what he thinks is either anger or frustration or both. “Just because our relationship is something closer to friendship than colleagues doesn’t mean you can presume to tell me how to act.”

Eames flinches as though Arthur’s just struck him. That would probably hurt less than the words coming out of his mouth, Arthur thinks absently.

“Very well,” Eames says, the most emotionless Arthur’s ever heard him. “Well, don’t expect any help from me on any jobs that you insist on pulling with that sacrificial lamb, _darling_.”

Arthur doesn’t breathe as Eames walks away. He doesn’t dare to turn and watch Eames’s retreating back.

He leaves without saying goodbye and it’s the last time he speaks to him for another five months.

\------------------------------------------

Arthur keeps tabs on Eames, of course he does. What kind of point man would he be if he didn’t? And of course, professionalism is the only reason why he knows that Eames is in Mombasa when Cobb asks about him.

Arthur has never been good at lying, especially not to himself.

Still, he tries to tell himself that he doesn’t miss the constant litany of terrible pet names.

\------------------------------------------

“Mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling,” Arthur hears from by his shoulder. He turns to find Eames dreaming up a rocket launcher and pauses long enough for Eames to take over and aim at the projections on the neighboring roof.

He can’t help but be impressed and just a tad bit fond, despite the sour note their last meeting ended on.

Eames obviously catches the fondness that he’s let slip onto his face and responds in kind. Arthur laughs a little helplessly and slams the door behind him.

“What, no angry gesturing this time?” Eames says, peering over his shoulder back at Arthur.

Arthur lengthens his strides, not looking back as he says with the straightest face he can manage. “It’ll do, Mr. Eames.”

The triumphant laughter he hears behind him draws out a brief smile. He ignores the knowing look Ariadne shoots his way and tucks it away the moment to be considered at a later point, when they’re at a lesser risk of dying.

 

 

 

 

Extra:

“ _Good_ morning, sweet cheeks!” Eames chirps.

Arthur glares at him from underneath the covers, turning his head slightly so he can catch a glimpse of the alarm clock. “It’s 6:34 in the morning, Eames. Nothing about this is good.”

Eames sweeps down to sit on the edge of the bed and press a light kiss to Arthur’s temple. “Would it be better if I told you I brought coffee? Dark and disgustingly bitter, just like you like it.”

Arthur slips his hands out from underneath the warm blankets, making grabby fingers. The mug is warm in his hands, and he takes a large swig. When he’s cleared half of the mug, he leans over and presses a kiss to Eames’s disgusted grimace. “Happy Valentine’s Day, you silly man.”

“Your silly man, darling” Eames says before kissing him back.


End file.
